The Message Cake Matter
by FarisPants
Summary: Merlin works in the bakery section of a grocery store. Morgana loves his cakes and thinks he's hilarious. Gwen is having a rough time, but is nonetheless a total gem. Arthur is working at not being a stranger.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin rubbed his ear with his wrist and smiled down at the newest customer.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said. "Anything I can get for you?"

"One eight-inch standard topping devil's chocolate message cake." The customer didn't look up from his phone.

Merlin smiled a bit more fiercely, as though he could command his customer's full attention through the force of excellent customer service. "Always a hit," he complimented, passing over the notepad. "If you'll go ahead and write down your message, your cake will be ready in three hours."

"One hour."

"Pardon?" Merlin's smile faltered.

"I'll pick it up in one hour."

"I'm sorry, sir," Merlin said crisply. "Your cake will not be ready in an hour. It will take three hours to bake, cool, decorate, and package your cake."

The customer didn't reply for a moment. After a minute of tapping keys, he slid his phone into his breast pocket and leaned over the counter.

"I will be back in one hour, and at that time I will be picking up my cake." He pulled the notepad out from Merlin's limp fingers and scrawled out his message.

"If you're back in an hour, your cake will not be ready," Merlin beamed. He could feel his smile growing increasingly lackluster.

"Now you hand me a receipt." The customer slapped the notepad back on the counter.

Merlin printed off a receipt and passed it over.

"What name should I put on the order, sir?"

He looked down at the notepad—the customer's writing was legible enough—and when he looked back up, the customer had vanished.

He spent a panicked half hour baking the cake and setting up icing-cut to scale- on a parchment paper tray in the freezer. He gave the cake a few minutes to breathe before sliding it into the fridge to speed-cool.

It wouldn't be his best cake, but it would be pretty close to on-time.

He peeled the sheet of frozen icing onto the frozen cake, dabbed the sides so that everything was covered, and added edging swirls. Merlin twisted the white icing tube and began writing, in curling, elegant letters, the message.

_Always more fish in the sea, bitch._

He had been trying to decode the message for the past hour, and the only conclusion he could come to was that his customer was ordering an angry break-up cake. It seemed like something one would read on the internet, not a message that would pop up among the typical Happy Birthday's, Happy Anniversary's, Congratulations', and Go Team messages.

Merlin was pretty sure it was against store policy to write swears on message cakes, but the bakery section was advertised as having a cake for every occasion, not every occasion except bitter break-ups. He decided a compromise: "Always more fish in the sea" followed by a hand-drawn, two-tone picture of a big-chested dog with long eyelashes in sailor's hat. He sprinkled some salt on top of the cake, which wasn't standard, but fit thematically and made Merlin feel better about the rush job. He boxed the cake and set the label over the picture of the dog. Its wagging tail looked a bit like a "b", and he wasn't interested on being around when the customer realized that Merlin had deviated from the order.

He looked up at the clock and congratulated himself for getting the job done in eighty minutes. He peered out at the rest of the store, half expecting the customer to be grunting on the other side of the counter, but there was no one on the other side of the cake display.

The customer didn't return for another half hour at least, but nonetheless Merlin procured a smile to go with the box—not that the customer paid him any notice—and bid him a good day.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin dusted flour off his hands and smiled down at the newest customer.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said, and his speaking capabilities dwindled as the customer smiled back. Customers smiling back wasn't atypical, but it was certainly the first time he'd seen a woman built and dressed like a supermodel resting her rack on the counter.

"Hello," she said in a lilting voice. She studied his chest, and her eyes dragged back up to his face. "Hello, Merlin."

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Merlin said.

"You've already said that," the woman laughed.

"Right," Merlin said. "Then, ah, for get anything you?"

"Yes, actually." Merlin liked how easily she laughed. "A bitch cake."

"Absolutely," Merlin said. "It'll be ready in three hours. Would you like a message on your—um, what type of cake again?" He flushed.

"Bitch."

Merlin flushed. "I'm sorry, once more? It sounded like you said—"

"Bitch." She was half-laughing and delighted now. "Arthur ordered one here. It was labelled as devil's chocolate, but tasted different than usual. There was an icing dog on it."

"Oh!" Merlin said, and he recalled a cake from two weeks ago. "Yes, of course."

"But as an eleven by fifteen sheet cake," the woman said.

Merlin reached for the notepad. "Were you the cake recipient?" he asked.

She beamed at him. "I was."

Merlin shuffled his feet. "And, uh, it was alright?"

He wondered, belatedly, if his cake mastery had become a laugh, if people would start flocking to him for revenge cakes, if he would be known for cakes that tasted like Styrofoam and looked decorated by toddlers…

"Merlin," she said, "I adored it."

"Good, then. That's good. That's great!" He held out the notepad. "Would you like a message for the cake?"

"How long can my message be?" She took the pen and Merlin tried not to stare too hard at the little bony knob on the side of her wrist.

"Nothing longer than you could tweet," he said, and he began jotting down the order on his pad. "May I put a name to this order?"

She tilted a smile towards him without looking up from her writing. "Morgana."

"Merlin. I'm Merlin."

"I guessed as much." She tapped his name tag and Merlin was pretty sure that his heart was bruising his ribs as it tried to escape his chest.

Merlin stared at her handwriting as her hand moved across the page. The letters were sharp and precise; she was hardly pressing on the paper and Merlin doubted there would be the usual indentations on the page below the top one. Morgana's hair framed her face in silky dark waves, and her lashes looked extraordinarily long when she was looking down.

When she finished, he yanked his eyes to the display so he wouldn't be caught staring and rang up her receipt.

"That'll fit, you reckon?" Morgana asked.

Merlin didn't properly look at the message before he assured her that it would. She bid him a good day and sashayed over to checkout with her receipt. Merlin clutched the notepad and watched her leave before reading the message properly.

_Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you! Happy Birthday, Dr._

Beneath the message was a line, a phone number, and the words "call me when it's ready."

The bakery department's phone could only receive calls. Two and a half hours later, Merlin blushed violently as he ducked into the kitchen with his mobile and dialed with shaking fingers.


	3. Chapter 3

"Morning," Merlin called as he stepped behind the counter.

"Good morning!" Gwen sang back. She was punching dough in a way that reminded Merlin that she taught a kickboxing class at the gym. Merlin had attended one of her classes and spent the majority of the time flailing around, perpetually two steps behind and frantically avoiding getting in line of anyone's foot. He counted it as a win that he had escaped the class unscathed.

"How're things today?" Merlin tied up his apron and set to making a batch of cinnamon buns. The past month and been brutal for Gwen. It had started with her being on-call for a friend whose fiancé was found to be a smuggler and a cheater that nearly killed her brother and concluded with her father getting charged for murder. Gwen had been punctual and sweet no matter how physically exhausted and emotionally fatigued she had been. Gwen was the strongest person that Merlin knew.

"I've got no quarrel before the sun rises," Gwen said. "Besides, everything's going to have to calm down sooner or later; it literally can't keep up this rate, can it?" She didn't give Merlin any time to answer. "No, it's actually impossible."

"Knock on wood," Merlin said, rapping his mixing spoon. He ducked to the bottom of a shelf to open a new bag of flour. "I'm in the mood for scones today, but God forbid we don't have buns and donuts. You'd think we work in a confectionary, not a bakery. You'll have to let me come play in your shop."

"As if you didn't have a sweet tooth a mile long," Gwen snorted. "It's not that I don't want you over, Merlin. It's just that I don't have funds to pay you. Things are pretty tight right now—"

"I wouldn't dream of getting money for getting a spin in your kitchen." Merlin turned so that Gwen could see his exaggeratedly horrified expression.

"I wouldn't want to take advantage—"

"I get off at two," Merlin said. "Let me have a go at some orange and cranberry scones, won't you?" He stuck out his lip in a pout. "Pretty please? With banana bread on top?"

Gwen shook her head at her dough. "I can't believe how fortunate I am to a friend like you."

"Are you kidding?" Merlin began sifting his flour. "You're incredible, Gwen. I must have been gold in my past life to get to be friends with you in this one."

Gwen sniffed and, before Merlin knew it, abandoned her dough on the counter and had him in a hug so tight that it hurt to breathe. He dropped the sift to hug her back as tight as he could manage and awkwardly patted her back as she cried into his shoulder.

"Thank you," Gwen hiccoughed. "Thank you, Merlin. Thank you so much."

Merlin rambled about brands of flour until the oven beeped, and Gwen folded herself back together.

"The furnace calls." She smiled, wet-eyed, at him and made her way back to her dough.


	4. Chapter 4

"Remember me?"

Merlin studiously finished his icing flower and set it on the cake. "Be with you in a moment!"

"Alright, Merlin." Merlin's head snapped up and he gawked at his customer.

"Morgana!"

She beamed. "You do remember."

Merlin pulled off his gloves. "Your order was pretty distinctive. Was my cake up to snuff?"

"That's actually what I'm here about." Morgana's face fell into a serious, undecipherable expression.

"It wasn't a standard make," Merlin said defensively. "I did exactly as you requested." Morgana raised an eyebrow, and Merlin was forcibly reminded of his shift manager.

"Don't bitch cakes always come with drawings?"

Merlin was light-headed with relief. "Not for sheet size, ma'am."

"Then I'll have to request further customization." Morgana leaned against the counter. "I hope you don't get tired of me, Merlin. There are a lot of birthdays in April. You'll be seeing me a lot."

"You'd never know if I did," Merlin assured her. "So are you pre-ordering in bulk?"

"Just one for today." Morgana's fingers curved over the counter and Merlin wondered if she played piano. "And for a fiend who doesn't like chocolate, at that."

"So what will it be?" Merlin asked. He snagged his notepad and smiled back at her.

Morgana grinned back

googl/lC97UP- (A.N. There are some receipts from Morgana's cake orders in April-I didn't realize how anti-links this site is; if you add a period between the goo and the gl, you should get to the image :P)


	5. Chapter 5

(some weeks later)

Merlin rolled over in bed and snagged his chirping phone.

"Merlin," he grunted. "Who's this?"

"Are you sleeping?"

Merlin looked down at the number, but he didn't recognize it.

"Not presently. Who's this?"

"Morgana. Bitch cake Morgana."

"B…Morgana?"

"Is it a bad time?"

"It's nearly ten," Merlin said. "At night."

"I didn't really pay attention to the time. It was an emergency."

Merlin scrambled upright. "You called me for an emergency?"

"It's a baking emergency," Morgana clarified.

"Oh, okay, then," Merlin said. "As long as I'm not your emergency contact for when other emergencies, like life and death or in case of abduction by communists."

"You're sassy. I like it."

"Hello, caller. What's the nature of your emergency?"

"Alright, alright! I'm a Big Sister in a mentoring program, and I promised my Little Brother that I would make him cupcakes to take to class for his birthday."

"Go on."

"Merlin, they're hideous."

"How do they taste? After all, that's what matters."

"Children are merciless beasts that will swarm Mordred if I bring these monstrosities to his class."

"You could get them from the store."

Morgana sighed dramatically. "I promised him Minecraft cupcakes."

"Minecraft cupcakes. Like Lego blocks?"

"Apparently! I bought a square cupcake tin and the edges keep crumbling when I try to pull them out. My icing is tearing up the cupcake, and it tastes sour. You would not believe how horrid these are."

"When do you need them by?" Merlin asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"How early?"

"Eight-thirty. I'm sorry I'm calling so late—"

"No, it's fine," Merlin said. "What type of cupcakes?"

"I started with chocolate, but I've run out of cocoa powder."

"How big a batch?"

"Three dozen."

"I'll have them boxed and ready to go by eight."

"Oh, Merlin, that would be incredible. How could I ever make it up to you?"

"I mean, you'll still be paying for them," Merlin pointed out.

"You know Gwen? She works in your bakery section twice a week."

"Yes?" Merlin said. He was thrown by the nonsequitor.

"She and a few of my mates meet up for dinner on Sunday afternoon. You should join us."

"That doesn't really seem appropriate."

"Told you you'd grow tired of me."

"Morgana—"

"Gwen and I'd love to see you, but obviously you're not under any compunction to actually attend."

"I'll think on it."

"Thank you," Morgana said. "Good night, Merlin."

"Good night."


End file.
